Die for Art
by Aiden Dahlin
Summary: Mordhaus employees never last for long, but their ends are always truly brutal. The hiring part gets old quickly, unfortunatly .


_**For now this is a oneshot as I might well not finish the rest of the story. Ive left too many fanfictions unfinished as is, thank you.**_

_**Brought to you in one-shot format for your reading pleasure! I've the rest of the story handy, but none of it written down so one day (maybe) you will (possibly) get the rest (unlikely).**_

_**I do not, nor shall I ever, own Metalocalypse or any canon characters involved...**_

_**...dammit.**_

* * *

The Album Room was by far the least metal room in Mordhaus.

Every wall was covered with posters of Little Mermaid, The Rainbow Fish, and even Dr. Suess. Dozens of ocean-themed pictures littered the ground (there was a collage of Finding Nemo shots in the corner), many of which were being mercilessly trampled beneath the boots of one Nathan Explosion.

Either unaware of uncaring (most likely the former) of the damage he was doing to the carefully arranged photos, Nathan stomped around the room. Every time he came across something particularly colourful on the wall he would point it out incredulously, exclaiming over how gay it was and getting his band mates riled up.

On the opposite end of the room sat a scrawny and obviously pissed off artist. Incredibly frazzled, his brush jerked haphazardly across the canvas in front of him, his teeth grinding audibly. This was not how he'd envisioned his life after Art College. Sure, he'd gotten a job with the biggest company on earth, designing all their album covers and had his art mass produced across the planet, even tattooed onto some idiotic fans' flesh for eternity, but was that really success?

For all his 'success', he had _dicks_ for bosses, his last three girlfriends had all been killed by yard-wolves, and he was only allowed to wear Dethklok Brand Corpse Rot Black nail polish. The only girls he got these days were fat pimply simpering art-school morons that didn't understand his work! Worse than even _that,_ they were usually virgins that _always_ sucked in bed! What the hell was the point of being famous if all the ass you got had fat dimples??

He should've been a school janitor; at least _they_ get the head cheerleader.

"Hey! _Dude_, where the fuck did that _come_ from?!"

The scrawny artist flinched violently, for a moment believing irrationally that his thoughts had been overheard, though when he found Nathan's head over his shoulder, staring intensely at his painting, he honestly didn't feel any more secure. "Wh-What the fuck man!? What the hell are you _talking_ about???"

Nathan's eyes turned to the side but his head stayed in place, one big green iris staring down two squinty browns. The green won. "Dude, this picture is fucking _awesome_! Where the hell did you get _that_ out of all this _gay_ shit?"

The overworked and underappreciated employee snarled loudly, hands shaking with the urge to rip out a handful of his boss's hair. "Are you kidding me?! It's all reference! Everything here is important! There is a little bit of everything in this room in your damned album cover!"

The frontman hummed something but from the other end of the room came an ear grating voice. "Dood! Yer tellin' me that frickin _Flounder_ is in our Murmaider cover!?"

A perfectly good (and very expensive) paintbrush snapped. "You want a piece of me bitch-tits!?!"

"Oooh, I'm _real_ scared dere, Martha Stewert."

"Yeaaah actually….We've been meaning to talk to you about that man…" Murderface had an expression of pitying condescension, stepping foreword and distracting him from delivering a messy death to the world's most beloved drummer. "You shee…. We've deshided that you're…y'know… kinda a fag. And we're worried you'll make _our_ _albums_ faggy too…"

"Ja, we cants has dem ladies t'inkings we fags because of yous." Agreed the guitarist, nodding his head so that his long luschious (gay) tresses fell over is shoulders. "So we has _great_ ideas! We ams getting for you _new_… insert-nations. Toki?"

The Littlest Wartooth gave a mock salute and sprinted to the doors, throwing them open. To the artist's horror, a small group of Klokateers filed through the archway, each pulling a section of a long rope which it soon became evident was attached to a huge fishtank…

…filled with sharks.

"We thought that having sharks would be better inspiration! You know, cuz sharks aren't gay, their _brutal_."

The artist stared at Nathan in wide-eyed disbelief. "..Let me get this straight." He growled "You, they guy that commissioned me to paint you as a _fucking mermaid_, think that _I'm_ gay and that having _fucking sharks_ in my workplace will make me more _brutal?"_

"Uhh….. Yeah. Pretty much I mean.. Yeah."

He screamed. The painting hit the floor as he ran through it, intent on strangling him, on ripping out his eyes his hair his _fucking brain-_

But before he even got near him his foot caught the rope. He yelped, falling on top of his easel, cleanly impaling his neck.

This time his scream was noticeably quieter.

Nathan made an awkward effort to help the guy up, or maybe to pull the easel out of his trachea, but the enraged artist only gave a sharp jerk away. He lost what little balance he had left, falling backwards into the shark tank.

Luckily for him, the tank was made of sugar glass so when it shattered it didn't cut him any worse (because that would be _bad_). _Unluckily_, each of the Sandtigers weighed about 350lbs and his scrawny 110lbs body couldn't hold up to having seven of them dumped on him at once.

When the water had wooshed harmlessly over the band's feet ("Aw man, these're my favourite sneakers dood!") the slowly asphyxiating sharks were flopping angrily around on the floor, chewing on their squashed meal's extremities. The water on the floor had turned red, dying all the papers that they touched.

Dethklok, looking as a whole a tad uncomfortable though largely unbothered, edged foreword, their leader grabbing up the slightly soggy canvas. The red water had run over the blue and black scene, changing it, though the picture was still easily made out.

"Dude… Can we still use this?" Asked Nathan, eager but uncertain.

"Well… we _can_… nuthin' says we _can't_…." Pickles scratched his goatee, giving the sharks a few yards away a wary glare.

"But the colour is…"

"Itsh not really _brutal_ though." Murderface wrinkled his pug nose in repugnance.

"Ja, but it's was _blood_ waters mixing intos it, not just… _regulars_…" Skwisgaar smirked broadly, a boney finger hovering over the canvas to point it out. "That's pretty brutal to my eye."

"Can we really call a _**purple**__**ocean**_ brutal though?" Nathan didn't sound quite convince.

They were all quiet for a few moments, until Toki spoke up. "Wellll…. We mades coffee brutal didn'ts we?"

"Fuck yeah." Nathan grinned manically, holding up the painting like a blood-stained trophy. "Dethklok's gotta new album cover!"

The Klokateers cheered, whooping and jumping ecstatically, apparently unaware that they would be wrangling pissed off Sand Tigers in the near future.

Amidst all the revelry one mustachioed guitarist sighed, staring at a soggy brown eye sitting on the toe of his boot. "Guess we gonna needs a new paintings mans." He sighed again. "Too bad. Frankie was _real_ nice guys."

_**That's the way I want to go out. Screaming like a pansy under a thousand pounds of shark d*ck.**_


End file.
